A King's Responsibility
by brynerose
Summary: Prince Caspian AU: Peter is forced to face his grave mistake-and his very ability to lead-when the raid on Miraz's castle goes terribly wrong. The question is, can he rise beyond it? NOW WITH EPILOGUE (of sorts, kind of...)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For those of you who also follow Crystal Manning (formerly Crystalized Chaos), yes, she has a similar story. We discussed the similarities and differences in our stories before I posted mine, and they take very different directions. Please do not accuse me of copying, because that is not the case here! We just want to share our alternate takes on a story we both love. On that note, thanks so much to Crystal for taking the time to work with me on this! Keep rockin' and writing! ^-^**

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A King's Responsibility

It was with sinking despair that Peter called the retreat. The Narnian forces fled before the gathering onslaught, their numbers already so much fewer. He didn't want to admit making such a fatal mistake. Not in front of an inexperienced crown prince and so many Narnians who believed in the monarchs of old. Believed in him, supposed High King Peter.

From a side doorway, Caspian and his professor burst out on horseback, leading a third by the reigns. "Come on!" he shouted over the chaos.

Peter surveyed the courtyard for remaining Narnians. Many were having to fight to reach the gateway. A minotaur strained to keep the portcullis open, but he couldn't manage it much longer. Miraz's forces concentrated their fire on him.

"King Peter!"

"Peter!"

Susan now joined Caspian, riding on Glenstorm's back. It was time to go. Peter stepped toward them—and felt his left knee give way to searing pain. A wounded Telmarine had struck him from the ground. He kicked the man's sword away, but he couldn't let the others continue to wait for him.

"Go! I'll catch up!"

Even Caspian was reluctant to follow the order. Peter watched them duck under the portcullis as he hobbled toward the extra horse. He'd barely taken three steps, however, when the minotaur's strength finally gave out. The rest of them were trapped, and surrounded by archers.

A satyr knocked Peter to the ground, shielding him, just as deadly arrows rained down. Screams of pain and panic were all around. Then everything became quiet.

"Check for survivors!" barked a voice. Through his own haze of pain, Peter could only assume the order came from Miraz.

Indistinguishable sounds crept closer and closer to where he was hidden. Should he still try to fight? In all his years as High King, he had never encountered a position such as this. He had no idea what to do.

"Ahh!"

The decision was made for him; a large boot found Peter's knee, none too gently. Rough hands followed his cry to its source, and extracted him from the surrounding bodies. "Sire, we have a prisoner! One of the other humans!"

Peter was hauled to his feet as the Telmarine lord shoved his way to the center of the courtyard. Blood drawn by Caspian's sword was smeared on his ruddy neck.

Unexpectedly, the older man's expression was one of confusion. "You do not have the look of a Telmarine. Who are you? What business do you have here?"

"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you, but my business is the freedom of Narnia, for all its creatures," Peter replied. He inhaled sharply when his captor shook him. "Fine. I am the High King of the old times. My sisters, brother, and I were called back here from another world by your nephew, I believe." As he spoke, his shoulders regained some of their old regal bearing.

"Is that so?" purred Miraz. Peter lost sight as the Telmarine stalked around him, sizing him up. Of course—at his present age he couldn't possibly look like a king (a fact he was quite tired of). Then suddenly, a heavy blow crashed down on Peter's head, and everything went black.

"What happened?" Lucy asked as she came rushing out to meet the returning forces.

Caspian hung his head. "We were outmatched once the alarm was sounded. They…managed to trap a fair number of our troops as we retreated." Unable to muster further explanation, he looked helplessly at Susan, whose face was drawn.

"Peter was…separated from us in the chaos," she continued, swallowing hard. "We're not sure where he is."

Tears brimmed quickly in Lucy's eyes. "He…he's not…he _can't_…"

"Susan!" came Edmund's voice from above. The gryphon he rode alighted wearily on the grass beside them. "We'd best get everyone inside." His eyes betrayed more, much more, that he obviously did not want to say in front of Lucy. The situation was grim. "Lu, start tending to the worst injuries. Everyone else, get some food and rest; there's no telling what Miraz is going to do next, or when."

The youngest Pevensie was very reluctant to leave them, but eventually gave up trying to convince them to include her in the discussion of Peter. When they had gone separate ways in the Howe, Edmund spoke again, softly. "He's been captured! Miraz ordered him to be taken away as we flew over the castle."

Caspian's heart clenched. His uncle did not treat prisoners kindly, and losing the High King was a tremendous blow to the Narnian forces. And as much as he hated to admit, it was partially his doing…

"What do we do now?" Susan choked.

"First, we need to regroup," Casipan finally replied. He couldn't bear the anguish in her usually soft features. "There's nothing we can do in this state. After that, and only after that, call a meeting with the officers to weigh our options. Right now Miraz has leverage on us. We'll have to move carefully, for Peter's sake. Come on." He touched Susan's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way, and entered the makeshift dining hall.

"Are you alright?" Susan asked Edmund. Her younger brother nodded even as he rubbed his tired eyes. "Did you see anything else? Was Peter badly hurt? Was he struggling?"

"Couldn't tell," mumbled Edmund. He surprised Susan by suddenly hugging her. "He never gave up on any of us. We'll get him back, don't worry."

Susan smiled and hugged Edmund back. "I hope so. I hope so."


	2. Chapter 2

When Peter came to, he was in a cold, dark, damp cell. Heavy manacles clinked at his wrists, and his weapons were gone, of course. The slightest movement shot pain down his left leg; he could feel the dried blood on his skin and trousers crack apart. His head still pounded.

Realization hit him—he was a prisoner. The shock made him bolt upright so fast he pulled the chains which bound him to their limit. It couldn't be possible!

"Oy! Glozelle, tell his lordship that the boy's awake," echoed a voice from the hall beyond his cell bars. Peter froze. A swarthy-faced Telmarine approached with a torch. "Didja have a nice rest, eh?" He laughed as Peter strained once more against the chains, this time in anger.

A second pair of footsteps heralded another, more shadowy figure. "Lord Miraz will see him in the private dining room." The guard nodded, and went about loudly unlocking the door. Peter leapt backward into a defensive position, though his leg protested.

"Look here," warned the guard. "This'll go easier on ye as long as you cooperate."

Peter said nothing, remaining stiff as the manacles were removed. When he was pulled to his feet, however, any desire to break free quickly dissipated. His injured knee did not seem to want to take his weight as they walked. The men securing him on either side had to pull him along.

The awkward trio marched through the castle to the private chambers. Miraz waited patiently, dining on a most tantalizing dish of unknown origin. He motioned for Peter's captors to leave as soon as they'd made it through the door. "There's no need to restrain him in my presence."

The soldiers left. Peter could at least stand on his own, but his left leg shook violently with the effort.

"So, how does a 'King of Old' manage to arrive here from so long ago, and at such a robust age?" Miraz quipped, a thick layer of sarcasm in his voice. "Surely there is a village household missing a son or hired help. What would possess a boy such as you to take up with this—_infestation_ of Narnia."

"I told you I didn't expect you to believe me," sighed Peter. He wasn't in the mood for banter.

"You admit to conjuring the story, then?"

"No, I simply knew that you wouldn't want to accept the truth, which is understandable considering acknowledging the truth would mean threatening your claim to the throne." Peter couldn't keep the coolness entirely out of his voice.

Miraz bounded to his feet, pounding the table. "Dare you play word games with me when your very life is in my hands? I could slay you without batting an eye!"

"I know you can," Peter replied, checking himself. "But I ask if that is the best course for dealing with such a determined enemy?"

"Determined, eh? What makes you so sure of their loyalty? Perhaps I should just deliver your head to them on a spit."

"Well, they survived in hiding long enough to gain the strength to oppose you. We certainly didn't give away our full numbers when we raided this castle. If they learned that you killed prisoners for no reason, you would be hard pressed to repel them."

"We'll see about that. As it stands, I could also gain much by keeping you alive for information," Miraz countered silkily. When Peter raised his eyebrows, the older man added, "Of course I don't expect you to give it willingly. But I expect you'll come around eventually, with some persuasion."

Miraz clapped twice. The door behind Peter opened and closed, and before he could react, a cruel blow was dealt to his injured knee. He collapsed hard on the flagstones.

The dungeon guard took Peter further by surprise with a swift kick to the stomach, preventing him from getting up. The third strike proved useless, however; Peter rolled out of range and unsteadily to his feet.

"You're a quick one after all," jeered the guard. His movements were more calculated now. Peter limped around to keep a careful distance from his attacker. Heavy breathing was the only sound in the chamber.

Finally, the guard lost patience with their circling and leapt forward. His blows were deflected once, twice, and then Peter managed to connect his elbow solidly with the bigger man's jaw. They fell apart, but only for a moment. The strike incensed the guard into a near-berserk rage. He swung wildly over and over, until Peter lost his balance in the effort to duck, and, quite by accident, took the guard's knee full in the face. He instantly felt blood well up in both nostrils, eyes streaming so he could barely see. It only took one more blow to send him sprawling on the ground.

Peter had no other choice but to curl up for protection and pray the guard would be called off soon. However, the heavy boots only connected a few times with his arms and shins before the Telmarine shifted around to Peter's exposed back. He could barely gasp for air now…

"That's enough," pronounced Miraz. A second guard joined them, helping the first to haul Peter back to his feet. Blood dripped liberally onto his jerkin and the floor. Pain lanced through his every move.

Miraz surveyed the damage at length. "I will let you think on this lesson tonight. That is, unless there are things you wish to share now."

Peter straightened his posture with regal defiance, though his head was swimming. He and the usurping lord stared coldly at each other for nearly a minute.

"Very well, then," Miraz waved them away. Peter was led unceremoniously back to the dungeon, where one of the guards threw a tattered handkerchief just outside the cell door as he turned to leave. It took several moments for Peter to gather himself enough to move on his own.

_Aslan, forgive me, I failed,_ he lamented silently, pinching the rough fabric to his nose.


	3. Chapter 3

"It's madness; I won't let you go back there and risk everything we have left! Peter certainly wouldn't want you to," Susan begged. Edmund concentrated on dabbing his cuts and scrapes with salve. He couldn't just leave Peter behind after a defeat like that. Narnia needed its High King.

"We don't know what this Miraz character is willing to do. Giving him the chance to learn about us is putting everyone at risk already," he shot back grimly.

"Don't you realize? Lucy would be beside herself if we lost both of you!"

"We haven't _lost_ Peter," Edmund snapped. "We're going to get him back."

"But we can't do that at the cost of the whole war, and you _know_ Peter would agree with me," Susan countered, grabbing his shoulders firmly. "Miraz is going to want to strike back for sure, which means we have to be ready. Peter can hold out until an opportunity arises."

Edmund couldn't refute this. Defense _was_ their highest priority now, to deny that fact was both foolish and useless. He simply couldn't live with himself if he didn't at least make an effort to rescue Peter. The thought of losing their older brother sent him ice cold.

Slowly, Susan's expression relaxed into her usual motherly self. "You're right, though. We will get him back." She offered a reassuring, one-armed hug, which Edmund accepted.

"Edmund! Susan! Come quickly!" Lucy came running down the hallway toward them. "Nikabrik's got some wild plan to bring back the White Witch. Hurry!"

Indeed, in the Table Room, a wall of ice obscured Aslan's relief with an eerie countenance of the Witch. Caspian stood before her, flanked by Nikabrik and two strangers.

"Stop!" shouted Edmund as he drew his sword. The blade was immediately put to the test as a Werewolf whipped aside its cloak and bounded at him. The other, a hag, turned to face Susan. Lucy bravely went after the traitorous Black Dwarf.

The entire chamber fell into chaos. Edmund quickly lost track of his sisters amidst a world of fur and foul breath. The Werewolf was twice his size, managing more than one glancing blow with its jagged claws despite Edmund's skill. Finally, however, steel bit flesh deep enough to slay the evil beast. Everything became much quieter.

The hag lay in a still heap by a pillar opposite Edmund. Trumpkin, who had at some point joined the fight, led Lucy kindly around the Stone Table. But Caspian remained transfixed by the cold image in front of him. The Witch extended an unearthly hand toward the prince's bleeding one.

"Get away from him!" Edmund tackled Caspian out of the circle in which he stood. The Witch instead turned her seductive gaze upon her old captive.

"Edmund, dear," she crooned, "how nice to see you again. Come on, just one drop."

Edmund shuddered. He never dreamed he'd have to feel her spell again, except in his nightmares.

"You know you can't do this alone."

_It is hopeless, isn't it? Without Aslan, and now Peter gone, where else could help come from? No! He couldn't let her block Aslan out again…_

"Maybe we can't, but we don't need help from the likes of you!" he spat back, and with a great cry stabbed his blade into the heart of the ice. The Witch writhed, faded, and the ice crashed to the floor.

Caspian rose silently, dusting himself off until he realized Susan was staring at him. Her expression was of pain and disappointment. Then she turned on her heel and stalked away. Caspian hung his head in shame. Edmund, for lack of any other thought, studied the broken Table. After all their efforts, why _wasn't_ Aslan appearing with another miracle?

Then it hit him—a thought almost completely unconnected to his present consciousness, and yet unmistakably inspired by the stones in front of him and the discussion that had take place there a mere day before. Edmund sprinted for the door after his sister, ignoring Caspian's shout of surprise.

"You want to _what_?" exclaimed Susan. Lucy remained fearfully silent, having refused to be left out of any more of these discussions.

"I think Pete had the right idea, we just timed it wrongly," Edmund concluded. "The sentries have already reported Telmarine scouts at the edge of the woods, so Miraz and his army have to be on their way—leaving the castle open. It's the perfect opportunity—"

"You saw yourself the result of the last attempt on the castle. We can't risk the troops, and we can't leave the Howe defenseless!"

"I'm not talking about a head-on attack, that would be stupid. No I mean send two or three of us in secretly, and rescue him while Miraz's back is turned."

Susan glared at her brother. "And who's going to do that?"

"I will." Caspian stepped forward into the conversation for the first time.

"You're the next king," Edmund protested. "We can't afford to send you. I was going to go, for one; sending any creatures of Narnia would make it harder to blend in, although a small one like Reepicheep would be helpful."

"No one here knows the castle as well as I. You'll need my help," argued the prince.

"And no one knows better than you the enemy which will be at our doorstep at any moment. We need a leader _here_."

"Susan's as good a leader as you or I. She can handle things until we get back, which if leave soon, could be as early as the morning."

"I say," Susan broke back in, "as flattering as it is for you to have such an opinion of me, I'd rather you not speak of me as if I was somewhere else playing nurse for children. Both of you have pointed out clearly that we all need a handle on the entire situation. We need to know what we're up against, and what we're going to do about it, before _anyone_ goes out on risky missions."

"So you'd do it?"

"I'll do what I have to. Just because I'm a girl doesn't make me incompetent at strategy."

Caspian took a deep breath before looking each Pevensie in the eye. "Miraz campaigns for conquest—if he knows anything about us, he'll come prepared to siege the Howe. However, he is still unsure of what the woods holds. Of what we hold. He is bold, but not reckless." He paused, bit his lip, and finally appealed directly to Susan. "I am not completely free of blame for our losses at the castle. While your brother may be headstrong, he is nonetheless a seasoned and capable leader. I wish to repay him—and you—for coming to help us at all."

Susan couldn't refuse such an honest confession. Something of a spell had come over her since first meeting Caspian. His hair, his eyes, his accent were simply…entrancing. She nearly forgot about being cross with him for attempting to bring back the Witch.

"Tell me what you need, and I'll buy you two as much time as I can," she answered.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter was awoken by clanging metal near his head, but before he could register anything, rough hands were hauling him up once more. Every inch of him hurt from Miraz's interrogations; dried blood clung to his skin, his hair, his clothes from several cuts, scrapes, and of course his injured knee. Lack of food and proper sleep further hampered him from struggling.

"Up, you. Miraz wants to be on the road within the hour," said his guard.

A covered wagon awaited them in the courtyard. The guard had to half-escort, half-drag Peter along, with the condition his knee was in now. Under the wagon canopy, General Glozelle was already seated. He held a piece of leather split along its length several times. A short lash.

"You know why I'm here, boy," the rugged general said tonelessly, as if he wished with all his might not to be in this position. "Lord—_King_ Miraz wants his information."

"I've told you, it's just the one door as far as I know." Peter's throat was parched and scratchy. Under them, the floor began to rumble.

"Surely there are other openings for archers, sentries? Even the Narnians can't be stupid enough to build themselves a tomb. What else is there?"

"None of those openings are accessible from the ground, and I couldn't tell you how to get there if I wanted to—" His attempt to explain was cut off by a lash across his face, though by Glozelle's expression he might as well have struck himself. A sympathetic Telmarine? "Why…why do you do this if you hate it so much?"

"I have a duty to my king," the man forced out. "It is his will, whether I agree with it or not. And believe me, it will go easier on you if you give in now than if you hold out for him to question you." With all the effort he seemed to possess, he swung the leather again, this time catching Peter across the shoulder blades. This time he was rewarded with a cry.

"I swear, I don't know of any other openings. We were too busy planning our attack once we arrived. I…was too busy." Admitting his mistakes again burned like an internal wound.

"Then I'm sorry. Miraz won't settle for that kind of answer." Glozelle raised his arm a third time.

"Oh, hang it all, we'll have to cross further upstream than I thought. There are more of them than ever," groaned Edmund.

"A siege army. The bridge must be ready for them to cross in the morning," explained Caspian. "Miraz will want to move at their first chance. Look, that's his retinue camped there. They must have just arrived."

The dark cluster didn't appear very active, however. But something not far away was drawing a crowd. Edmund didn't like it, whatever it was. "So, see a way to get across?"

"That ford there might be negotiable, about 200 paces from here. But shouldn't we be making all speed for the castle?"

"Peter's his bargaining chip," Edmund thought out loud, dread weighing in his stomach. "He wouldn't really leave him locked at the castle, would he? We have to get to that camp."

Sudden shouts forced them to duck back into the brush, but they hadn't been spotted. While the soldiers prepared for war, those workers who were local peasants celebrated the completion of the bridge. Just one more obstacle to dodge.

It took two or three attempts to get across the ford with any surety that they weren't seen. The cover of the woods gave them much more comfort, and, after circling the camp, a decent look at the common grounds, where men were gathering. Several decent fires as well as numerous torches lit the area. The men formed an arc around something tied between two posts. Then it moved with difficulty, spreadeagled as it was. Guards flanked it, and Miraz himself circled it, brandishing a whip. Not something, _someone_, whose shirt was pulled up over his head to expose his back. The tyrant said something indistinguishable, waited, and swung the whip viciously. The figure let out a pain-strangled cry. The onlookers howled with laughter.

"High King alright, that one!" one of the soldiers crowed.

Edmund froze. Of course—it was Peter. Instinctively, he started to spring forward, but Caspian held him back.

"Not yet. They'd kill you."

He felt utterly helpless as Miraz struck again and again, pausing only to occasionally shout 'Tell me!' at his captive. This was Peter, proud, capable Peter, his brother, being beaten for Aslan-only-knew what secrets about the Narnian forces. Or maybe just for the pleasure of the Telmarine army, for they were certainly enjoying it. Edmund felt his knees sink into the forest loam, tears blurring his eyes, as Peter's anguished voice reached them.

"Just wait, Edmund. We'll get them yet. Soon they'll all pay for it," Caspian whispered.

"I can't—it's just—it's not—"

"Hold yourself together, King of Narnia. Our chance will come."

Miraz was close to Peter now, as if whispering himself. Peter's head was pulled back by his hair. He must not have given the right answer, however, because suddenly Miraz clamped the whip around his neck. _No, not like this! He's going to die, they're just going to kill him right here..._Edmund couldn't watch anymore.

Hoarse coughing and gasping erupted just in time. But alive though he was, Peter's body hung dreadfully slack between the ropes holding him. Miraz threw his whip to the ground furiously. So he hadn't broken the High King, after all. The older man barked an order to untie Peter, who was limply carried back to a covered wagon set with guards. One was wearing Peter's sword, Rhindon. Anger spiked briefly through Edmund's consciousness. The crowd began to disperse.

"That's odd," observed Caspian. "They're so intent on the cart, but they haven't bothered to do anything for the horse who pulled it, aside from stick a bucket of water in front of it."

That shook Edmund out of his numb state; he grabbed the prince's arm. "Look at how the cart's positioned. If we can slip through those outer tents, I bet we could jump on the horse before they would even notice. There's only four of them. All we'd need is to make it to the thickets east of the Howe—they'd provide enough cover to reach the entrance we left from."

"It's risky," Caspian muttered. "But then again, so is just about any plan to get into that camp. You realize Susan would kill you for attempting this."

"Yeah." Edmund pulled out a small crossbow from his belt as he rose to a crouch. "I'll cover the back of the wagon if you take the horse," he whispered. They slunk forward through the night.


	5. Chapter 5

A sharp jolt and many shouts yanked Peter back to the world of pain and awareness. His shirt and the wildly-shaking floor beneath him assailed the raw flesh of his back, yet neither did he have the strength to move. Someone stepped over him toward the source of the shouts, which were fading somewhat. What torture awaited him now?

"Hold on!" yelled a voice from the opposite direction, past his head. A voice he vaguely recognized. Then splashing engulfed Peter's dim world, though no liquid touched him. The proximity of water, however, awoke his cotton-dry mouth. Weakly, he strove to find its source.

"Hang in there, Pete. It's just us." An arm barred him progress. Peter tried to get around it. The arm pinned him just in time for the floor to lurch and level with a _crash_, causing him to cry out. He didn't know one person could hurt this much.

"How bad is it?" asked the first voice. The whipping and rustling of branches nearly drowned it out.

"Bad enough," replied the second. "Pete, can you hear me? It's Edmund. Do you think you can walk?"

"Uhnnnn…" Peter followed the words with great difficulty. What was Edmund doing here? Where were they? Why did they even bother, after everything 'the great High King' had done? He was a failure. Better to leave him to this fate he justly deserved.

Nothing was making sense. It was all too distant to care about, anyway. His body seemed to float as the vibrations beneath him stopped, and hands lifted him under his shoulders. Even the pain was receding slowly…

Susan paced the chamber allotted to them for sleeping quarters—a runaway cart heading straight for the How, when Edmund and Caspian should be reaching the castle? What was going on? And what did it mean for Peter?

A sudden rumble of grunts and shuffling caused her to jump. People were in the hallway. She only made it to the doorway, however, before she had to step back, hand to her mouth.

The young warriors supported Peter between them; he was limp, pale, and very bloodied. Edmund led the way to the eldest Pevensie's makeshift bed to set him down.

"Where's—Lucy?"

"Sitting in the Table Room. What happened? How bad it he?" Susan fired off nervously.

Edmund collapsed next to their brother and laid the recovered Rhindon aside. "Some idiot fancied wearing this into battle against us. Don't know how he got past Miraz with it. Anyway, there's a spectacular assortment of scrapes and bruises, both from the battle and whatever Peter faced afterward. Most recently, Miraz used a whip. I…had to stand by and…watch."

"Oh, Edmund," breathed Susan. She tried to hug him, but he brushed her off, pressing on.

"He's also got a pretty serious blade wound behind the left knee. Couldn't put any weight on it, even before he passed out." He rolled Peter over enough to show Susan the untreated battle wound and awful whipping, which had soaked through the shirt fabric.

With trembling fingers, Susan helped Edmund remove Peter's ruined shirt. His skin was hot and discolored, and the lashings terribly raw. He was absolutely still, aside from the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

"Lucy, come on—your cordial!" exclaimed Edmund. Word had traveled enough that she was running to join them, fumbling with the precious bottle in her hands. A single drop quivered at the opening, then fell into Peter's slightly-open mouth.

Moments passed. It may have been a trick of the light, but the frightful bruises seemed to fade bit by bit. Finally, Peter himself grimaced mightily, and opened his eyes. "W-w-w…"

"Shh," Susan cut him off. "You're safe in Aslan's How; Lucy just gave you a drop of cordial. Rest now."

Peter blinked several times. "Miraz…he didn't…?"

"We discovered you at the camp by the river, and rescued you. He was going to use you to leverage the Narnians, wasn't he?" Edmund added hastily.

"The Telmarines are on their way here, but don't worry yourself about it now. You need food and decent sleep," Susan insisted.

He wouldn't say anything more, but Peter didn't look very relieved to be back.

With the crisis resolved, Caspian felt awkward sitting in on the little reunion. Luckily, no one noticed him slip out. He followed a slight breeze to one of the sentries' posts. Dawn had yet to break outside the Howe. Caspian sat pensive, while his own wounds from the battle and Nikabrik's foul plan dully stung with sweat. He only distantly registered someone joining him.

"Are you alright, my Prince?" It was his faithful mentor, Cornelius.


	6. Chapter 6

"Susan, should you be resting yourself?" Edmund asked. But she shook her head at her younger brother. "Don't be stubborn. He's safe now."

Sighing heavily, Susan glanced down at Peter, who was fast asleep. The elder boy's face remained worn and clammy. "He still looks ill, is all. I just want to be sure he's going to be alright. Go on ahead and see to the troops, and then get some sleep. We'll need you even more if the Telmarines attack before Peter is well again."

Edmund left reluctantly. As Susan continued her vigil, Peter shifted a little without waking. His looks truly misrepresented the trials he had faced over the years. Such a strange phrase to use now. They had all faced more than their youth suggested.

"Queen Susan!" hissed a voice. Caspian slipped uncertainly into the chamber. A satyr was close behind. "Is this a bad time?"

"No," she sighed, although she couldn't resist rubbing her eyes any longer.

"Miraz's forces have been sighted at the edge of the woods. Our troops are mobilizing as we speak. You should prepare as well."

"In a minute." She gazed anxiously down at Peter. "I take it you have plans in mind."

"Yes, given enough time to position ourselves, which brings me to my second reason for coming here personally. Do you know where Edmund is?"

"He just—"

"Here," Edmund himself chimed in. "Glenstorm said you were looking for me."

"As the generals and I were drawing up plans, it occurred to me—Miraz may be a tyrant and a murderer, but as king, he is still subject to the traditions and expectations of his people. There is one in particular that may buy us some time."

"What?" Susan and Edmund said together.

"A challenge, to single combat. Him against our best swordsman."

"I'll do it."

Everyone in the room started; in the midst of their discussion, Peter had woken up. Susan tried to ease him back, but he pushed forward into a sitting position. The faintest traces of his still-healing wounds remained on his bare torso.

"Not to offend, Pete, but you just barely came back with your life," objected Edmund. "Maybe it would be better if—"

"_No_," Peter insisted. He rose slowly to his feet so as not to wobble. "It's the move he'll least expect. The last time he laid eyes on me, I couldn't hold myself up, much less a sword. It would have to be off-balancing to then face me at full strength in combat."

Susan sprang up beside him. "Except you're _not_! Look at you! He almost killed you once already, and you want to give him another chance?"

"It's my duty as High King," he pressed grimly. "I'm responsible for everything that's happened, for all of you. And besides, Lucy's cordial has worked its magic. I feel fine, really. Please, Susan, you have to understand. I have to."

"That doesn't mean you have to take it all on by yourself."

"Sometimes I do." He met Edmund's and Caspian's gazed firmly. They acknowledged his decision in silence.

"Just be careful," Susan whimpered.

"Get me parchment and a pen. And I'll need my armor. And Lucy—no matter what we come up with, we're going to need Aslan's help."

Peter rolled his neck and shoulders, making sure all stiffness was gone before donning a soft leather jerkin, the first piece to his old armor. Lucy's cordial may have healed him physically, but it did not stop the uneasy dreams he had about his captivity. These invisible scars would stay with him a lot longer, he knew.

_I have to do this. I failed as king…failed my siblings, Narnia, Aslan…maybe I do deserve all of this._

"Susan and Lucy are off," Caspian announced, striding into the chamber, already in battle gear. "And the sentry said Edmund's party has been sighted returning to the Howe. You're sure about doing this? I could always—"

"You're the next king. It's neither right nor wise to send you into this challenge. Besides, this is something I have to finish. I have to…face the results of my actions."

"And how long must you face them before you've atoned for them? Imprisonment under Miraz is not a light consequence, even if you survived it."

"Nothing will truly atone for the death of others. But I will take whatever repercussions come because I led them there. That's a king's responsibility."

"And what do people do when their king is gone?"

"Then they're free to find a better one. You, for instance."

Caspian tried to hide his surprise. "Perhaps. Still, I don't think even the greatest king is without some misjudgment in his lifetime. We are still here to fight. You didn't fail, King Peter."

"King," Peter echoed bitterly. "That's not how I would put it."

"Yes, _King_. Look, I've faced a lot of unfamiliar things in just a few days, but if there's one thing I recognize, it's the loyalty and belief the Narnians have in you. _In you_, Peter. Is this who they believe in? Or do they believe in a king who stands up even in the face of mistakes and hardships and his own shortcomings? _That's _the king my professor told me about. That's responsibility, too."

Peter let the words sink in. The young prince may have a lot to learn as a ruler, but this insight had some merit. He could yet bring Narnia into peace and wholeness once more. Caspian seemed to understand Peter's silence, and simply handed him his armor as it was needed. They were nearly finished when Edmund appeared in the doorway.

"He's accepted. They'll arrive at the designated place within the hour."

"Good. Almost done here," answered Peter as he buckled one of his greaves. "Caspian, you'd better see that everyone's getting into place."

Caspian nodded, and left. Suddenly weary again, Peter sat on a rock, heaving a sigh.

"Alright there, Pete?" Edmund asked.

"Just setting myself mentally. I need to be completely focused on this fight."

"But you're having a difficult time of it, aren't you?"

Peter glanced up at his brother, but was unable to cover his surprise. He finally hung his head as Edmund's gaze remained steady.

"Remember, I've been in the same way. The Witch was good at what she did. Even a year later, I'm not completely rid of the nightmares."

The rolling memories of being tortured by Miraz mingled with Edmund's appearance after his rescue from the Witch, the many nights that Edmund tossed and turned and pretended to sleep well, not knowing Peter was watching. Yes, his younger brother _did_ know something of unseen scars.

"Does it ever get better?" Peter sighed.

Edmund shrugged. "It come and goes. Mostly you just have to decide that you're stronger than what happened, and keep moving forward. But don't deny that it changed you. Just make sure it changes you for the better." He clapped a reassuring hand on Peter's armored shoulder. "Aslan helps with that, too, if you let him."

"Thanks."

At that moment, Caspian reappeared in the doorway. "They've arrived early. I just thought you'd want to know."

Peter rose to his feet, accepting his old helmet from Edmund. "Let's go. I'm ready."


	7. Chapter 7

_ADDENDUM TO A/N: So, I wrote this and totally forgot about it, silly me. Here it is now ^-^_

**A/N: I have returned! By request, I went back and wrote out the duel between Miraz and Peter, along with how their little sojourn affects the face off. Admittedly, I did consider doing this from the start, but I planned on closing my alternate scenario back into the movie at ****some**** point, and I felt that perhaps the strength Peter showed in the movie duel could be from his reconviction in his role as a king. **

**But who am I to deny fans what they want to see? Miraz still has time to mess with Peter's head, and maybe it's the fight itself that drives Peter back into conviction. So here it is! Thanks to WillowDryad for convincing me to do it!**

Peter squinted as they emerged into bright sunlight. When was the last time he got to see weather like this? His prison cell had been without a window, so he had no sense of passing time while locked up, and they hadn't taken him to the camp until after sunset. But now was not the time to be admiring the scenery; he had a difficult task in front of him.

The Telmarine entourage was already settled at stone pavilion outside the How. Peter saw their reactions—to some satisfaction—when they realized he indeed intended to fight. The general looked a little sick, in fact. Miraz pushed his surprise and anger into battle fury. Never mind that he already cut a formidable appearance with full battle armor…

"I see _his_ _highness_ has recovered. Or else he is very foolish," growled the swarthy usurper.

"I warned you not to underestimate us," Peter retorted with all the authority he could muster. His mind's eye replayed his first conversation with Miraz, the beating ordered on him. He saw, _felt_ the interrogations that had followed. No! He was stronger than what he'd suffered. He would make himself stronger.

The dark king seemed to pick up on the moment's hesitation. "There is still time to surrender."

"Feel free."

"How many more must die for the throne?"

_Aslan did not make him High King by accident._ "Just one."

Closing his visor, Peter launched himself off a rock at his opponent. They clashed heavily, and the duel began. He definitely held his own considering the size difference. Though the Telmarine king had many more years of experience (even against Peter's 'lost' years as a ruler of Narnia), age and years of peace began to show in the older man. But he still had plenty of sheer muscle to throw around at Peter.

A blow to Peter's head knocked his helmet clean off, a rapidly swelling bruise encompassing most of his left cheek and eye. Miraz pressed the advantage, and drove his younger opponent back. However, Peter managed to score a clean slice to his thigh. The man's rage redoubled.

"You think by simply showing up to face me, you will gain an upper hand?" Miraz spat in Peter's face. "I who have made you _scream_, made you beg for mercy. Such power is not taken away lightly." Unprepared for the verbal onslaught, Peter's foot caught a crack in the stonework. He went flat on his back. Their swords clashed once, twice…then Miraz stomped down on Peter's outstretched shield.

"Ahhgh!" He felt his left shoulder pop violently out of place, rendering the arm pretty much useless. Miraz pursued him as he rolled away, until his back met rock. An idea struck him—he rolled the other way, tripping the Telmarine, who fell heavily. The crowd's roar echoed in his ears. That's when he saw it, a horse galloping in their direction. Susan clung tightly behind Caspian. _What? No…_

"Does his highness need a respite?" Miraz threw at him. Peter fought to control his pain and shock.

"Five minutes?"

"Three!"

They parted ways for the moment. Edmund immediately rushed to Peter's side to help him, but Peter went straight to Caspian and Susan. His sister's face was white, taking in his appearance. He himself could care less how he looked right now.

"Lucy?"

"She got through," Susan assured him, throwing a quick glance to the prince beside her. "With a little help."

Peter felt genuine gratitude toward Caspian for the first time. "Thanks."

"Well, you were busy," shrugged the young warrior. Peter couldn't argue with that. Still on the alert, however, he turned back to Susan.

"Better get up there, just in case. I don't expect the Telmarines will keep their word."

Susan wore her ever-mothering expression, and wrapped her arms around her brother. The movement sharply reminded Peter that his left shoulder was limp and excruciating at the moment. He couldn't suppress the quiet cry that rose; Susan quickly apologized.

"'S alright," he replied. They shared a serious gaze.

"Be careful."

"Uh, keep smiling," Edmund muttered to them.

They all realized the worried crowd of Narnian eyes fixed upon them. Despite his pain, Peter gritted a smile and raised his sword to the troops. The collection of creatures roared its encouragement. Susan darted off to join the archers while Edmund sat Peter down to ready him again for battle. The injured shoulder throbbed as his younger brother slipped the shield off his arm.

"Ahh!—I think it's dislocated." This would not be fun to rectify. And how much use of the arm would he have afterward? Peter studied Miraz and the Telmarine marshals, who conversed discordantly. Especially with a wounded thigh, Miraz looked about as tame as a prized fighting bull. The outlook from his view was suddenly very grim. "What do you think happens back home, if you die here?"

Edmund appeared caught off guard that Peter would dare think such a thing. But this was a fight to the death—he had to be realistic. So he pressed on. He had to get this out.

"You know, you've always been there, and I've never really—"

_Pop!_

"—Auugh!" Of all things, Edmund had to cut him off by putting his shoulder back into place.

"You'll have to save it for later," his younger brother declared, and continued to get him ready. Peter refused his helmet; pain and adrenaline hampered his breathing enough. Everyone resumed their positions. The armies cheered.

_Yeah, if there is a later…_

Miraz's renewed attacks pressed Peter to his limits. The blows were faster, harder, and laced with pounding memories of being tortured. Peter didn't want to give in to the traitorous thoughts. Everyone believed in him, depended on him! His brother and the crown prince had risked everything to rescue him from Miraz.

"You are nothing! Nothing but a whelp of a boy who only dreamt of grandeur!" the tyrant shouted over the noise. "I broke you, and I can break you again. Is that a true king? Your foolish beliefs can't protect you forever, boy!"

Miraz slammed into Peter's bad shoulder. He fell heavily, but in turn swung his legs to bring the big warrior down. Somewhere in the chaos he lost his shield. He tried to compensate with offense, tangling the guards of their swords until he wrested his opponent's away. Then Miraz started pounding at Peter with his round shield. Both blades fell to the wayside. It was all he could do to avoid being knocked unconscious by the decorated metal plate.

But he was still able to turn the move to his own advantage, twisting the king's arm until it wrenched painfully behind his back. That is, until Miraz elbowed Peter in the face. The larger man stormed after him, and Peter was thrown against the broken rocks. Miraz had regained a sword, too, leaving Peter with only his gauntlets for defense. He blocked, swung the blade away, and seized the resultant opening to land a hard blow to the Telmarine's injured thigh. They broke apart, both gasping for air.

"Respite!" cried the older man. "Respite…" One arm stretched up to cover his unprotected head.

Peter halted as he poised to throw another punch. He actually wasn't sure what to do. Despite his rage and adrenaline, he was never one for continuing to attack in cold blood and disrespect. Such tactics were the opposite of true kingship. They weren't in his nature.

"Now's not the time for chivalry, Peter!" Edmund shouted from the sideline. His brother had a point. Miraz was not likely to give him the same dignity; why should Peter acknowledge this show of desperation? However, the pure fact that respite was asked for held him to his honor. He would not bend to anger-fueled whims when he had agreed to a fair fight. It may be more than he could ever expect to receive, but that didn't change his obligation. Peter stalked passed the kneeling figure.

He heard the scrape of steel before the warning.

"Peter, look out!"

He turned in time to duck once, twice, and on the third swipe, caught the blade in his gloved hands. Peter didn't even really think about what he was doing—he spun around and brought the sword right up into the lunging king. The end slipped cleanly underneath Miraz's breastplate for a critical blow.

Everything stretched into slow motion. His shocked opponent wobbled to his knees, fumbling for where he'd been stabbed. Peter already had the sword raised for a killing strike. Everyone watching seemed to hold their breath.

He had every right now. The fight _was_ to the death, after all. Part of him wanted so badly to do it, to end this terrible man's life. Miraz had hurt so many for his own gain…and yet, Peter couldn't do it. If anyone should truly have power over the Telmarine's fate, it should be one of his victims…

The wounded king leered at Peter the longer the moment held out. "What's the matter, boy? Too cowardly to take a life?"

_Yes, this is the right choice,_ thought Peter. "It's not mine to take." And he turned, offering the sword to Caspian. The prince had to shake off his amazement before he stepped forward. Peter gratefully retreated to where Edmund stood. He looked forward to a good long rest after this latest beating.

Tension coagulated in the air around them. Caspian's body shook with what could only be righteous anticipation—he could finally take revenge for his father, after all—as every soul present watched. Miraz growled something low that only his nephew could hear. Everyone waited. Peter couldn't see Caspian's face to guess what he was thinking.

Suddenly the prince let out a strangled cry, and thrust the sword down. It bit deep into a patch of grass in front of Miraz's knees. He hissed something back, straightened, and returned to the Narnian side of the field. The How erupted with triumphant cheers.

_He does have the makings of a true Narnian king. _Peter smiled through his weariness. He and Caspian exchanged a nod. They had won.

At least they thought so, until Miraz gasped and staggered out of his lieutenant's arms. The wounded man collapsed face-down, with an arrow sticking out of the base of his armor. A red-fletched arrow. Peter's gazed whipped back to Susan's position. But he'd never heard an arrow pass by! She looked just as confused; Caspian's expression had gone dark.

"Treachery!" cried the Telmarine lord. "They shot him! They murdered our king!" Already the general had retreated to their front lines.

"Peter look out!" warned Susan.

So much for avoiding a full-scale battle. Exchanging glances with Edmund and Caspian, Peter geared himself up to fight once more.


End file.
